


Five Times They Weren't Very Sexy and One Time They Aced It

by ZehWulf



Series: In Any Way, Shape, or Form [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Anal Fingering, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Awkward Sexual Situations, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Good at Cunnilingus (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has Breasts (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Gender Fluid Character, Hand Jobs, Inexperienced Crowley (Good Omens), Lingerie, Nipple Play, Only Vaguely Experienced Aziraphale, Other, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, and in this one they bone, but honestly angels and demons have no set gender, figuring out how to sex good with your partner, gender fluid crowley, humor and smut, let's get every combo in there, penetrative sex toys, sex-favorable asexual relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZehWulf/pseuds/ZehWulf
Summary: “Have you ever wondered what it feels like?” Crowley asks while contemplating the dregs at the bottom of his wine glass. He’s aiming for philosophical but fears the faint wheeze at the end of the question might have given him away.“Have I ever wondered what ‘what’ feels like,” Aziraphale asks finally.“Sex,” he says, much louder than intended or reasonable. They both wince.“Oh, have you never…?” Aziraphale asks with polite disbelief.“You have?” Crowley demands.Look, when you're largely inexperienced sex-favorable asexual ineffables, it takes a bit of practice, a lot of communication, and some bull-headed persistence to get your sex life in commendable working order. Or, five times things got (hilariously) awkward during sex, and one time after they've got it mostly figured out. A companion fic to "Scratching That Itch." (Sex acts, such as they are, tagged per chapter in chapter notes!)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: In Any Way, Shape, or Form [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575490
Comments: 137
Kudos: 336





	1. The first time is always awkward...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be fairly warned that though this is rated explicit, and there will be "sex" happening all throughout the fic, it ain't gonna get particularly sexy until the bonus chapter, as per the premise. ;)
> 
> Also, this is intended to be a companion fic to "Scratching That Itch," which is porny vignettes set after they've worked out what they like, though I don't think it matters what order you read them in. It also builds on and makes references to the first two parts of the series, though it isn't necessary to read them in order to appreciate this one.
> 
> All love to beta extraordinaire, [onlysmallwings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/onlysmallwings/).
> 
> Sex-related tags specific to this chapter include: Crowley has a penis, Aziraphale also (technically) has a penis, (some) nipple play, one (1) hand job

"Have you ever wondered what it feels like?" Crowley asks while contemplating the dregs at the bottom of his wine glass. He's aiming for philosophical but fears the faint wheeze at the end of the question might have given him away. When he attempts a studious cough to play it off, the embarrassed seizing of his vocal chords means he lets out a honk not dissimilar to a perturbed goose.

Aziraphale squints at him over the rim of his own near-empty glass from where he's slumped on the other end of the couch. "Are you quite all right, dear?" he asks, the space between words starting to blur with the lateness of the evening and the quantity of wine they've both consumed.

Crowley, fearing what else might escape his mouth, settles for a reassuring nod, which unfortunately makes the room go a little smeary around the edges until he fixes his gaze determinedly on the place where his right calf is settled precariously atop Aziraphale's knees. It's a sight still novel enough that it forces his brain to marshall attention in paranoid self-defense.

"Have I ever wondered what 'what' feels like," Aziraphale asks finally, apparently deciding to take Crowley's reassurance at face value.

"Hmm," Crowley hedges, as the byproduct of forcing himself to focus on what he's doing means he's starting to second-guess the genius of his plan.

Aziraphale lifts a hand and paws reassuringly at Crowley's shin. "What is it, dear boy?" he presses gently, sounding positively tender. "Please, let's not hold back between us any longer," he entreats, eyes going wide and beseeching under the gleaming shellac of alcohol.

Ah, fuck it, Crowley thinks.

"Sex," he says, much louder than intended or reasonable. They both wince.

"Oh, have you never...?" Aziraphale asks with polite disbelief.

"You have?" Crowley demands, lurching upright from his slouch against the arm of the couch and haphazardly consigning his empty wine glass to the desk with a wobbly miracle.

"Crowley," he says in a reproving tone of voice entirely undercut by the accidental drawl he puts on the O. "I think you would agree there's been quite a bit of lizure, er, lesion— _down time_ , over the past six thousand years. You never got bored and wondered what all the fuss was about?"

"Are you telling me you shagged someone because _you_ were bored?"

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. "You know I like to try things humans find fun." He shrugs, his shoulders bouncing up around his ears with overshot enthusiasm. "I tried it, oh, a few times in the third minllen—millnemia—a long time ago."

Crowley narrows his eyes and lurches in closer, draping a long arm behind the angel's head along the back of the couch. Aziraphale eyes the movement placidly and takes an unhurried sip of wine.

"So?" he demands, finally, when Aziraphale seems content to just stare back at him. "What was it like? Why didn't you keep it up?"

Aziraphale's face scrunches up skeptically. "I'm not sure what you want me to say, my dear. You know how I am. It was pleasant, but I prefer a nice slice of double-chocolate cake, all told. Not so messy. _Far_ more satisfying." He gets a faraway look in his eye that suggests he's imagining getting sinful with some ganache at that very moment.

"Oi, focus," Crowley says, tugging lightly at a white curl to get his attention and using it as an excuse to just leave his fingers lightly petting at the fluff at the crown of his head.

The angel looks surprised and then pleased as punch at the gesture and happily tips his head back to encourage further petting. For some reason, Crowley's the one who blushes.

"Why do you wish to know?" he asks after a moment, humming the words through his obvious contentment.

Crowley's still awed by how, now that he's made up his mind, Aziraphale has thrown himself so wholeheartedly into the idea of their side. He's been practically bludgeoning Crowley with gentle endearments, soft touches, and besotted looks somehow even more transparent than they'd been before. He has a vague sympathy for all those poor sods granted angelic visions who went into paroxysms of ecstasy.

"Take a wild guess," he drawls instead of clearly communicating his desires like a fully mature supernatural entity. He'll be the first to admit that he's not been transitioning with the same unbridled enthusiasm.[1]

He really should have seen it coming when Aziraphale looks him dead in the eye and asks, "Crowley, do you want to have sex with me?" in a perfectly amiable tone of voice.

Rather than deal with that politely inquisitive stare, he turns away and scrubs his free hand over his face a few times, desperately wishing he could undo the portion of the evening where he'd tossed his sunglasses on the table in an ill-advised fit of intimacy.

"Oh, dear, have I misjudged?" Aziraphale says, voice pitching up into a fret. He straightens up abruptly, causing Crowley's hand to fall away from his hair, and Crowley tries not to feel it like a rejection when it clearly isn't intended to be.

Because he's not a complete tit, he shakes his head, but he also draws both arms in so he can clasp his hands and lean over with his elbows on his thighs, needing some distance. He can't quite bring himself to look at the angel, but he nudges his knee over to press against Aziraphale's in what he hopes reads as reassurance.

"I see," Aziraphale says quietly, and he slowly slides his palm over Crowley's knee where it's pressed against his own. "Hmm, perhaps I was just a bit blunt," he muses to himself, and then leans forward into the periphery of Crowley's vision. When Crowley reluctantly looks over at him, Aziraphale gives him an uncertain but glowing smile and asks, "Darling, would you like to make love?"

Crowley groans, dropping his head and shoving his hands into his hair and pulling sharply, regretting ever bringing the topic up.

"Oh, forgive me," Aziraphale says, sounding more amused than fretful this time. "Too soppy? How shall I phrase it, then?" he asks, voice getting perky and warm in that way that Crowley knows means he's settling into his bastard groove. "Would you like to dance the Paphian jig? Go groping for trout in a peculiar river? Perform the culbatizing exercise? My dearest, would you like to fuck?"

"Bastard," Crowley growls through gritted teeth.

Aziraphale hums and rests a proprietary hand on the back of his exposed neck, squeezing slightly. "I wouldn't mind giving it a go, if you'd like to try," he says, sounding terribly kind. "Though, please don't take it personally if I don't, well, finish." He lays out the words matter-of-fact but with a precision that suggests he's actually trying to be sensitive.

Crowley tips his head to the side, letting a hand drop so he can see the angel better. Aziraphale offers him a hopeful smile.

"Do you not... to yourself?" he asks, not sure how to fully phrase the question without combusting into flames and settling for making a vague hand gesture instead.

Seeming to recognize Crowley's mortification, Aziraphale replies demurely, "Maybe once or twice a century. I find it's like trying to tickle one's self. I don't bother unless my corporation is acting up. With a partner is better, but..." he shrugs, and his smile is a touch more anxious this time.

"So why would you be willing to, ngk, with me?" he manages, feeling inordinately proud at managing a mostly complete sentence.

Aziraphale's eyes sparkle. "My dear, I think you underestimate just how much I would like to get my hands on you. If I can do so in a way that brings you particular pleasure, all the better."

"Don't have to have sex for that," Crowley says before his brain can catch up with his mouth, which he thinks is the only reason he's able to get it out so clearly.

"Certainly not," he says easily. "But since you're asking..." He lifts his eyebrows significantly.

The totality of the conversation is starting to fully process, and it hits him viscerally that Aziraphale is seriously offering to have sex with him even though it isn't something he finds personally exciting. But because Crowley has asked him, and he wants to make Crowley feel good, and he wants to be physically intimate with Crowley, and because he _loves_ Crowley,[2] he's on board.

Crowley feels his face heat and blood fizz and chest squeeze all at once, and it's all he can do not to melt into a puddle on the shop rug. Instead, he musters up as much demonic bull-headedness as he can in the moment and sits back upright, twisting so his upper body is angled toward the angel.

Aziraphale is watching him closely, eyes strikingly clear, and Crowley realizes that somewhere over the course of this entirely too fraught conversation they both sobered up.

"Yeah, angel," he starts out determinedly, "let's... I want us to, er..." He trails off, floundering as suddenly all he can think of are the kinds of horribly outdated euphemisms the angel was just bullying him with. He gives up with a glare.

Aziraphale smirks, and then his features soften into something more thoughtful. "Shall I kiss you?" he asks softly.

Instead of replying, Crowley lurches forward, catching himself just short of headbutting the love of his life in the face. He decides to power through, despite Aziraphale's mild look of alarm, and reaches up with one hand to cup the angel's far cheek.

Aziraphale's eyes flutter shut, and he leans into the touch, tipping his face up invitingly. Crowley takes the hint and leans forward, brushing their lips together once, twice, before settling in for a leisurely press.

It's nice, being so close, touching so intimately, and he feels a rush of excitement race through him. Aziraphale brings his own hands up, gently grasps him by the neck, and takes control of the kiss with the confidence of someone well versed in the subject. Crowley can't decide whether he's amused or exasperated.

The kisses deepen and get wetter. Aziraphale politely introduces his tongue, and Crowley follows his lead, sliding and tasting and probing gently in turn. Each new sensation is a pleasant shock, and he determinedly mimics and improvises until they're full-on snogging.

It's the noises that ultimately break the spell.

Once he feels like he's keeping up with the rhythm Aziraphale has set, his brain is able to focus on other things, and the first thing it snags on is the wet, vaguely suctioning noises their mouths are making as they move against each other. Suddenly, he's trying to decide whether it sounds more like pulling your boots up out of a clinging mud puddle or the tacky squelch of someone eating a pudding with their mouth open.

And once he's clocked the sound, he can't help but notice how _weird_ the texture of a tongue is: somehow slimy and gritty at the same time. His lips are getting chapped. And now that the slightly sour-bitter flavor of the wine has started to recede, he can report that the inside of an angel's mouth tastes a bit like the way hot, damp stone smells.

The tentative erection that had sprung up in those first tingly, exciting moments begins to flag.

Something of his waning enthusiasm must transmit itself, because Aziraphale pulls back, looking far too alert, and sweeps an assessing look over him.

"Hmm," he says, "you too, then?" He lets out a heavy sigh, eyebrows pinching mournfully. "I had hoped that romance would improve on the experience. Kissing always seems so transporting in novels and theater."

"No offense, angel, but that was kind of weird," Crowley mutters, but he rubs his thumb over Aziraphale's cheek so he knows it's nothing personal.

Aziraphale nods. "This part—kissing—I keep trying. I kept hoping it was a matter of technique, and then maybe one's feelings towards one's partner, but..." He shakes his head in soft bewilderment. "I can't imagine a better partner, and that was..." He trails off with a wince.

"Like rolling a bit of raw tuna in your mouth when you're not partial to sashimi?" Crowley offers, deadpan, in part as a reflex to the warm fluttery feeling snapping at his insides from hearing Aziraphale's soppy declaration and also to see if he can nettle the angel into a different mood.

Pleasingly, the angel levels him with an affronted look. "Just because _you_ don't like sashimi," he starts, and Crowley darts in to press a quick, closed-mouth kiss against his lips—there, that was nice—to distract him.

"I expect that's our problem in this metaphor, angel," he says. "We don't have the same tastes as most humans."

Aziraphale concedes the argument with a disgruntled expression, but then gets a determined gleam in his eye.

"Well, there's no saying we have to kiss to be intimate," he declares, and then looks speculatively at Crowley's chest. "Or, at least, not mouth-to-mouth, anyway. Tell me, dear, are your nipples very sensitive?"

Crowley splutters and then watches, stunned, as Aziraphale reaches up and begins making short work of the buttons on Crowley's shirt.

"I'll take that as 'very,'" Aziraphale says primly. "Any other erogenous zones I should know about?"

"Buh," Crowley supplies as his brain comes back online. He begins yanking his scarf and jacket off. "Dunno? I guess my nipples, yeah, but I mostly just, er, get right to the point when I'm wanking."

"Oh, then it's something we can discover together. How exciting!" Aziraphale enthuses as he slides his hands up under the gap in Crowley's shirt and skims it off over his shoulders.

While Crowley's wriggling his arms to shake loose of the sleeves, Aziraphale lays his warm hands on his collar bones and drags them slowly down until his thumbs rest at the jut of Crowley's hip bones, just peeking over the waistband of his skinny jeans. It's like being gently mauled by a soft sun, and the plush heat leaves sparks of heady sensation in their wake that zip straight to his cock.

A garbled noise of outraged pleasure gets caught in his throat, and he jolts unsteadily to his feet so he can more easily attack the button and zip of his jeans.

"Why are you just sitting there?" he demands as he tries to make the shimmy required to get the jeans down over his thighs look cool. "Get that blessed bowtie off before I banish it for good."

Aziraphale, who had just been sitting watching him get naked with a slightly doofy smile on his face, blinks back to attention. "What?" he cries in affront, and begins to tug the bowtie loose with a hunted look. "You wouldn't dare."

"I'm over here getting ready to grant you the unbelievable gift of my six-thousand-year-standing virginity, and you can't even be bothered to get undressed," he says with overdone affront, and punctuates the complaint by finally kicking free of his pants. They sail off somewhere behind the sofa.

The angel rolls his eyes but continues to strip efficiently. "Isn't the construct of virginity one of yours?"

"Oh, piss off, you know that was one of Gabriel's, the wanker."

He hasn't ever felt awkward in the nude before, but he's finding it's a very different thing to be in the nude standing in front of a literal angel who is about to exorcise your nervy erection.[3] He ends up snatching each piece of Aziraphale's clothing as the angel removes it and sloppily folding and stacking them in a pile on the desk just to have something to do with his hands.

When Aziraphale has finally stripped down, Crowley crowds into his space. They've had a few exploratory cuddles in the past couple weeks, and he's been gagging to get more skin-to-skin contact in whatever way he can. Aziraphale radiates heat and softness, and Crowley has no compunctions about getting as up close and personal with it as possible, sex notwithstanding.

Aziraphale makes a pleased sound when Crowley tucks his face into his neck, and he immediately raises his arms to hug Crowley close. Crowley, in turn, snakes his arms around the angel's back and presses them tightly together, shoulder to belly to hip to thigh.

"Angel," he says, muffled into his neck.

"Yes, darling," Aziraphale sighs dreamily, running one of his hands up the back of Crowley's head to dig into his hair.

"You forgot something."

"Oh?"

Crowley nudges his erection against the angel's lower belly as a hint. Down south, there's nothing but smooth skin over a soft, featureless mound.

"Oh, dear," Aziraphale titters. "Silly me."

"Please don't say that during sex."

"I'll have it fixed in a jiffy. You know, I don't think I've made a proper effort since public bathing went out of fashion. Do you have any preferences? Or, no, I suppose you probably wouldn't. Let's try average, shall we? That seems sensible."

"Well it probably shouldn't be _in_ sensible," Crowley agrees, dry as dust and refusing to lift his head from the angel's neck. It's nice there.

Aziraphale giggles helplessly and tips his hips away. A second later, he presses back with a soft set of perfectly standard genitalia.

"There, now, that should do nicely."

"I cannot believe I'm still hard right now."

"I expect it's the novelty. I was frightfully aroused the first time I tried something with a partner, but it didn't last."

"You're really selling this whole partnered orgasms thing."

"Oh hush, you," he fusses and runs his hands up and down over Crowely's back in a firm sweep. He ends by reaching down to grab him firmly by the arse cheeks and begins grinding their bodies together in a slow, steady rhythm.

It doesn't take but four or five juddering rolls of his cock against the plush softness of Aziraphale's belly for Crowley to feel a fully-body flush steal over him. He moans into Aziraphale's neck in approval and swivels his hips in counterpoint to the angel's movements.

"Here, this isn't going to be comfortable for long," Aziraphale murmurs and frees a hand to pull down a bit of power. Then he's leaning back slightly to bring his hand between their bodies. Crowley goes a bit lightheaded as he realizes his best friend of six thousand years has a hand, slippery with lube, on his cock and is tugging him with firm strokes, root to tip. It's like dipping a foot into a slightly too hot bath. Intense waves of hot, shivery pleasure explode out from his pelvis and rocket up through his body until it feels like his hair is standing on end.

He tips his head far enough that he can look down between their bodies and see Aziraphale's plump, strong hands working him over, the sheen of lubricant glinting off his perfectly manicured nails.

Abruptly, he realizes that it's too much too fast, and almost before he realizes it, the warmth and buzzing energy crests in pulsing waves and he's coming and moaning all over Aziraphale's hand.

"Oh, lovely, my darling," Aziraphale breathes, bringing his free hand up to cradle the back of Crowley's neck, squeezing lightly as he gentles him through the last few shuddering jerks.

Crowley slumps against him, and Aziraphale hastily frees his hand. A minor miracle must be employed, because when he hugs Crowley to him, his hand is dry. Another fuzzy self-assessment confirms there isn't any mess between where they're once again pressed flush together.

Several seconds pass where Crowley's brain reboots, and he can't do more than cling and breathe in short pants through his open mouth. Soon enough, though, reality creeps back in and he groans long and loud.

"Dear?" Aziraphale queries, pausing the even sweeps of his hand up and down Crowley's back. "Are you all right?"

"Was that even five minutes?" he half wails, half moans.

"Oh..." Aziraphale says, thoughtful. "Well. Another thing to chalk up to the novelty, I think. How was it, otherwise? Good?"

"I mean, yeah, it was fine. Definitely better than if I did it myself, but _come on_ ," he growls, turning to press his flaming face more fully into Aziraphale's neck again. "Did you even get hard?"

"Ah, well..."

Crowley groans wordlessly again and squeezes closer. Aziraphale hugs back in solidarity.

"Do you want to try again?" he asks eventually, sounding cautiously energetic. "There's really no limit if we don't want there to be. Or you could try switching to a vulva. They take longer to get going, or so I'm told."

"No, I don't bloody want to try again, angel. Can't you let me wallow in peace?"

"Well," Aziraphale harrumphs. "No need to get in a strop. It's just sex."

There really isn't a reasonable response to that except to nip lightly at the skin closest to his mouth in retaliation. The angel yelps in surprise and then huffs in exasperation.

"Well, if you want a wallow, that's perfectly fine, but I want to at least be comfortable while you do." And then he bends his knees, grabs Crowley by the backs of his thighs, and hoists him up against his chest.

It's Crowley's turn to yelp as he wraps his arms and legs more firmly around the angel in self-defense. "What are you doing, you bastard?"

"Taking you to bed," he says, already crossing the room to the stairs to his flat above the shop. "Literally, I mean. If we're going to cuddle, I'd like pillows."

Since that sounds quite nice, Crowley doesn't object and clings tighter.

Maybe next time he'll acquit himself better.

* * *

  
  
1 Oh, the _enthusiasm_ is all there, but thrumming with anxious intensity just under his skin and making him feel he might fly apart at odd moments. If Aziraphale has turned into the angelic equivalent of a golden retriever, Crowley feels more like a feral alley cat: desperate for positive attention but skittish to the point of self defeat. [return to text]

2 He doesn't have to say it, though he has, the once, in a hushed moment as day was breaking before they had to switch faces. [return to text]

3 Since he comes by being a demon at least a little honestly, the idea of Aziraphale calmly reciting latin while he strokes Crowley off is far more appealing than it probably should be. [return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 3.5 of the times already in solid draft form and the rest plotted out, so I plan to update roughly every few days. It's going to get more awkward before it gets less, but my beta has assured me my strange sense of humor is coming through as intended. As a preview, title of the next chapter is "When you're ready, but not Ready ready."


	2. When you're ready, but not Ready ready

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, there isn't even a little bit of sex in this one. Just a lot of awkward prelude. :D

Crowley growls low in his throat. It's a deep, ugly thing that flattens out into a guttural hiss and carries enough demonic menace that it cuts through the Bach softly piping into the room from the sound system.[4] Aziraphale looks up from the shelf where he's been perusing Crowley's record collection and peers over his shoulder to see what the fuss is about.

His friend is sprawled out on his back on one of the hideously baroque benches in his living room, one leg thrown up so his ankle hooks over the backrest and the other restlessly tapping a staccato rhythm on the polished concrete floor. He's got his mobile held in both hands over his face, and his thumbs are jabbing at the screen as if the contraption has personally insulted him.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale calls out and sets his wine glass down carefully on the top of the shelf. "Everything all right, dear?"

He wanders back toward the demon, who's shifting his hips periodically and twitching his shoulders in agitation.

"Fine," Crowley snaps.

"Oh, clearly," Aziraphale harrumphs, nettled despite not being surprised by the hostile response.

If this were even a few months ago, he might have suggested a walk or a glass of something stronger to try and draw the curmudgeonly old snake out of his snit. Now, however, he realizes with dawning eagerness, he can try something more hands on.

He marches up to the bench and folds his hands neatly over his belly. "My dear, you appear stressed. Is there anything I can do for you? A hug, perhaps? Maybe a relaxing shoulder rub?"

Crowley's attention is finally drawn away from the mobile, but only so he can offer Aziraphale an exaggeratedly bewildered stare, made all the more effective by the all-over yellow of his eyes. "A shoulder rub?" he parrots back, incredulous.

Aziraphale smoothes down the edges of his waistcoat, refusing to be wound up. "I thought it might be nice. For both of us."

That admission seems to throw Crowley for a loop, and his expression melts from mocking to thoughtful. Then, with an elaborate sigh, he jackknifes upright on the bench in a flurry of limbs and pivots so he's half turned away from Aziraphale.

"Yeah, whatever you want, angel," he says casually over his near shoulder before resolutely turning to face the far wall.

Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself, not having expected success to be so immediate, and then indulges in a delighted full-body wriggle before settling behind Crowley on the bench. It's a little awkward, with both of them turned at an angle, but Aziraphale worries if he suggests a move to a more comfortable location it might spook the sulky demon.

"Jacket off, please," he instructs with a polite tap to Crowley's shoulder.

Crowley shrugs out of not just his jacket but his neckwear as well, and Aziraphale barely restrains himself long enough to let Crowley to drape them at the other end of the bench before laying his hands on Crowley's shoulders and giving them a firm squeeze. The feel of wiry muscles beneath the skin-warm cloth of his shirt is immensely satisfying, as is the immediate groan that rumbles from the demon's throat.

Aziraphale smirks to himself as he begins kneading and smoothing his hands over Crowley's upper back. The demon squirms under his attention. Thinking it might be ticklishness, he increases the pressure of his fingers. It seems to help, at first, as Crowley goes pliant and still. But then Aziraphale moves one hand up to grasp him by the back of the neck to get at the tight muscles there, and Crowley's breath hitches a tiny bit.

In a moment of divine inspiration, benign observations rearrange themselves and suggest a slightly different picture: the twitchinness, the restless hip movements, little groans and squirms from touch, and now the neck, which Aziraphale observed a couple of weeks ago is definitely an erogenous area for Crowley...

He pauses and calculates, and then calculates again for good measure, before leaning forward slightly so he can catch the edge of Crowley's expression in profile.

"Crowley, forgive me if this is indelicate, but are you... perhaps..." He flounders for a suitably discreet metaphor, attempting for at least a little finesse. "A bit hungry, shall we say? Or have an itch that needs scratching?"

Crowley tenses under his hands, and Aziraphale can just see the edge of one eye widen and his jaw loosen in surprise.

"Uh, I, um," Crowley hedges, and Aziraphale is quick to offer a supportive squeeze to his shoulder.

"It's quite all right, darling," he says. "Do you want to take care of it yourself, or would you like some assistance?"

Crowley turns his head to look back at him over his shoulder, wide eyes searching Aziraphale's face for something. Aziraphale tries to project as much supportive enthusiasm as he can. It must be effective, because Crowley twitches and pulls a fondly chagrined face.

"I take it you wouldn't mind lending a hand," he drawls.

"Oh, it would be my pleasure!" Aziraphale says enthusiastically. "I'm not feeling particularly amourous myself, at the moment, but I'd quite like to touch, if you're amenable."

"Amenable," Crowley says back in a voice suffused with affection. "Yeah, angel, if you're _amenable_ , too, let's give it a go."

Aziraphale grins. They've only done this twice now, and Crowley's corporation still feels like exciting, mostly uncharted territory. He's still cataloging all the places that make Crowley shiver just so, and it's very gratifying research.

Feeling unspeakably pleased with the opportunity before him and not a little smug at having sussed out the root of Crowley's surliness, Aziraphale slides his hands up and over the knobby angles of Crowley's shoulders and runs appreciative palms over the demon's nipples.[5]

Crowley makes a strangled hissing noise and jerks out of reach, then freezes, shoulders hunched defensively.

Aziraphale likewise freezes, hands held up, palms out in either preemptive surrender or supplication—he's not entirely sure which at the moment. His mind trips over itself trying to review the past thirty seconds and determine where he's gone so terribly wrong. Crowley said yes, didn't he? There was a whole thing with "amenable" being said too many times.

Still, for good measure, it never hurts to say, "I'm so sorry, my dear. I thought you said it was all right for me to help." He fights to keep his tone neutral and not betray the steadily rising panic gripping his chest in a vice that squeezes tighter with each unnecessary breath.

They've only just gotten past all the hurt they'd willingly and unwillingly inflicted on each other over the course of the Apocalypse. Aziraphale, in particular, has been making every effort to be more forthright and honest, now that he doesn't feel Heaven breathing down his neck at every moment. Oh, and the blossoming of their relationship has been so sweet, so fulfilling. If he's bungled it so soon...

Crowley straightens from his slouch and makes a performance of shaking his shoulders back.

"Yeah, sure," he agrees, sounding peaky. "A little warning would have been nice, that's all."

This is just nonsensical enough to Aziraphale's mind that it momentarily derails his panic in favor of confusion. He frowns.

"Warning?" he says. "Forgive me, my dear, but did you not just say ‘let's give it a go'? Did you mean tomorrow?" He can't help the bewildered tone and winces. He's trying to correct a misstep, not needle the poor dear.

Crowley shoots him an irritated glance over his shoulder but doesn't hold it, shoulders still unnaturally square to the opposite wall. "Of course not," he snaps, and then his whole body twitches in a sort of ripple from head to toe. "I just... I wasn't ready yet, was I?"

"For me to touch you?" Aziraphale asks cautiously and then shifts to tuck his hands under his own thighs to avoid temptation. "Did it not feel good?"

"No, it felt good, but..." He huffs and then finally (finally) shifts around so he can face Aziraphale. "I wasn't ready for it yet." He clocks Aziraphale's hands and rolls his eyes, grabbing for his wrists and threading their fingers so their palms are pressed together between them.

Aziraphale thinks he might be discerning the shape of it now. "You weren't ready for it to feel good yet," he concludes.

Crowley offers him an apologetic quirk of his lips. "Seems a bit silly, when you say it like that."

"No, no," Aziraphale hastens to reassure him, squeezing their palms together. "I think I've experienced it once before. A rude gentleman in the baths who didn't observe polite passing distance—quite uncouth. It gave me such an unexpected jolt. Very unsettling. Corporation hardwiring can be so _inconvenient_."

Crowley is full-on smirking at him now. "And when you say ‘in the baths' you mean..."

"Oh, in Rome. Not too long after we went for oysters, if I recall." He rearranges his expression into something obviously penitent. "I am sorry, darling. I shall remember in future to check."

The demon shrugs. "Just need a bit to get into the right mindset, that's all. Wasn't really thinking about it before you made the offer. Guess I was still warming up to the idea."

"And now?" Aziraphale asks, eager to demonstrate he has the new rule of engagement on lock.

"Eh. Kind of ruined the mood, didn't we?"

"But are you still feeling, er, concupiscent?"

"You can just say horny, angel. I'm certainly not going to judge you."

Aziraphale glowers.

Crowley grins before he awkwardly shrugs a shoulder. "Yeah, I guess."

"Okay, so," Aziraphale says with a determined wiggle, "we just have to get you in the right mindset. A properly _horny_ mindset," he emphasizes, and smirks when Crowey blushes fiercely. The demon may not judge, but he will certainly get flustered.[6]

"What do you suggest?" Crowley drawls.

"A ritual," Aziraphale replies promptly, and shushes Crowley when he immediately scoffs. "When one comes home, one takes off one's outdoor coat and puts on one's indoor coat, puts the kettle on, and perhaps plays a bit of music. It's how you know you're home and can get comfortable—relax." He gives Crowley a knowing look. "You can't tell me you don't have your own—rituals, I mean. I've seen the way you fondle the Bentley before you start it."

"Getting ready to open up the engine and turn your hair even whiter," Crowley agrees promptly, but there's a thoughtful cant to his chin, so Aziraphale knows he's taking the suggestion seriously now. "I do have a fucking shit up jacket," he muses. "Suppose I could get a, I dunno know, a sex jacket or something."

"I do hope that's a metaphor, dear," Aziraphale tutts. "Most people just use lingerie, these days."

"Lingerie!" Crowley says, yanking their hands toward him excitedly. "That's it." He uses the leverage to pull Aziraphale in close enough to press a smacking kiss to his forehead. "Yes, all right, you clever thing, let's try this again."

Aziraphale beams, feeling a little flustered himself now at both the endearment and the spontaneous affection. "Of course," he agrees happily. "When you're ready."

* * *

  
  
4 Aziraphale has yet to spot where the speakers are positioned and assumes they must be insufferably modern and tiny. [return to text]

5 Field note observations: extremely sensitive; very fetching in lace. [return to text]

6 Aziraphale must admit to a certain amount of unangelic glee at being able to apply six thousand years of skill in demonic button pushing in a new, very diverting arena. [return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter title preview: "Hold that thought..."


	3. Hold that thought...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex-related tags for this chapter: lingerie, penetrative sex toys (mentioned, but it doesn't get too graphic), anal fingering (ditto previous caveat), Crowley has a penis

Aziraphale is worrying a very promising love bite into a particularly sensitive spot on Crowley's neck, which is sending jolts of pleasure to Crowley's rapidly hardening cock, when he suddenly pulls off with an unattractive slurping pop and says, "Hold that thought, dear."

By the time Crowley opens his eyes, Aziraphale is disappearing through the bathroom door. A moment later, he hears him rummaging around, probably in the antiquated standing cabinet next to the sink.

"Angel?" he asks, and reflexively scowls at how bereft his voice sounds. Then again, he's standing stranded in the middle of Aziraphale's efficiency flat with his trousers undone, shirt half pushed off and hanging awkwardly around his elbows, and three or four damp hickeys cooling on his neck. Meanwhile, his supposedly attentive lover is elbow deep in the linens, by the sound of it. He supposes he's justified feeling abandoned.

"Aha!" he hears, and shortly Aziraphale reemerges holding a soft-looking cream-colored towel with two tartan-patterned flannels resting atop it. The angel offers them up triumphantly.

"Do you... want me to take a bath?" Crowley asks, narrowly swerving past the knee-jerk, defensive urge to outright accuse the angel of thinking he's a dirty demon. Aziraphale would be the first to admit that, of the two of them, Crowley's cleanliness and tidiness habits are superior.

Aziraphale gets that adorable wrinkle between his brows that means he's lost the plot but is desperately trying to fill in the blanks with context clues. "The towels!" he exclaims after an awkward pause and then rushes straight into, "No, my dear, these are for the mess. Easy clean up!" he says with a proud wriggle.

Crowley is stumped. "That's what miracles are for?"

Is this really why the angel interrupted what had been shaping up to be an excellent bit of foreplay?

"What if we're tired? Or too distracted to perform one safely?" Aziraphale plucks at one of the flannels with a meaningful raise of his eyebrows. "You nearly took your own eye out last time when you didn't warn me and your fingers were too slippery to snap properly."

"Oi!" Crowley exclaims, because he feels like he should, even if he can't reasonably dispute cold, hard facts. Turns out giving yourself an unintended facial isn't very sexy, especially when you manage to get some up your nose.

Aziraphale raises a supercilious eyebrow and walks over to the bed. He makes a production of setting the flannels on the bedside table and spreading the towel out over the center of the bed like a fluffy drop cloth.

"This is the opposite of sexy," Crowley complains, slinking over to the bed and snapping himself out of his clothes and into a pair of black lace knickers with elaborate snake-themed embroidery in defense of the mood. He'd managed to get into the proper mindset earlier organically, as it were, but he thinks it's time to bring out the big guns.

"Oh, those are quite charming," Aziraphale says with delight and putters back over to ogle them in perfectly aesthetic appreciation. "You're always so clever with the details," he says admiringly. Then he casts his eyes up in a coy look. "May I?" he asks, one plump hand reaching out toward Crowley's lace-covered hip in question.

Crowley swallows heavily, feeling his earlier flush abruptly reassert itself as he anticipates what's coming. Aziraphale is going to take his time running his fingers with maddening precision over every looping, embroidered snake. Probably he'll dip his fingertips underneath the waistband to test the give, and he'll drag his palms wide over the scratchy lace to feel every bit. Crowley knows because he's clocked the angel's tactile fascination with fabrics and clothing and is learning to exploit it to a very effective degree in the bedroom.

"Sure, angel," he says, and shivers as Aziraphale steps in closer and places one soft hand on his hip. Fingertips brush over a spot on the opposite hip and then drag tenderly in a swirling line closer and closer until they're winding in a semicircle lightly over the front of his stiffening cock. The tension of the lace diffuses the teasing sensation over the entire length of him and down through his balls.

"Oh dear, these are quite tight," Aziraphale remarks softly, continuing to trail his fingertips over the front of the lace and fingering at the head of Crowley's cock where it's trapped just underneath the waistband. "Are you sure you're comfortable, dearest?"

Crowley groans and grabs at the angel's shoulders for an anchor as warmth flushes over him and makes his knees wobbly.

"Should I...?" Aziraphale muses to himself and then pulls on the front of the waistband so Crowley's cock can spring free. "There," he says, sounding pleased with himself as he gently releases the edge of the lace so the elastic pins Crowley's cock against his abdomen. "Is that better?" he asks, looking up expectantly, light eyes wide.

"Hngk," Crowley manages, hips jerking against the teasing, not-quite discomfort as the band rubs against the sensitive bit just under the head.

"Oh!" Aziraphale says, startled, and then looks back down thoughtfully. "Well. There's a trick."

"That wasn't on purpose?" Crowley wheezes.

"Not that time," Aziraphale agrees, cheerfully ominous. "What would you like tonight, by the by? We didn't get around to details earlier."

Because the angel got sidetracked trying his hand at being a vampire, Crowley thinks hysterically.

"Want to be filled up," he gets out, voice embarrassingly thready.

"Certainly, darling," Aziraphale says warmly, petting lightly over Crowley's nipples and giving them each a tweak in turn.

When Crowley's knees start to give out, Aziraphale steps in close, inserts his thigh between Crowley's legs, and wraps a stabilizing arm around his lower back. Crowley's half-covered, half-exposed cock rubs against the soft velvet of his waistcoat, and the alternate sensations trips his brain like a circuit breaker.

"Would you like me to use my fingers, or would you prefer a dildo?" Aziraphale asks, sounding perfectly unruffled and exceedingly fond. It does squirmy things to Crowley's insides to know he's enjoying himself even when he isn't even slightly aroused.

"Fingers," he begs, rutting shamelessly against Aziraphale's hip and plush belly.

"Of course," Aziraphale says, and then, "Oh, dear. Hold on just a tick." He brings his hands up under Crowley's arms and lifts him clear off the floor. He takes two decisive steps forward and deposits Crowley gently on the end of the bed.

Crowley blinks out of his lust-addled haze, trying to decide if he's more horny or offended at the casual manhandling, and watches in growing dismay as Aziraphale makes yet another trip into the bathroom.

"What?" he demands, loudly and emphatically.

"Lubricant, my dear boy!" Aziraphale calls back, muffled by the sounds of cabinet doors being opened and closed. "I purchased a few different kinds from the shop next door for us to try."

"Miracles!" Crowley insists.

"Do _you_ want to be the one who explains to the auditors—no, never mind, you'd probably quite enjoy that, wouldn't you," Aziraphale says prissily as he emerges again with three different bottles cradled in his arms. He tumbles them onto the bottom edge of the towel and then plucks one back up and proffers it to Crowley. "This one tastes like pears!" he says with a self-satisfied grin.

And, all right, Crowley can see how that might be nice for them both, if the taste comes through and encourages Aziraphale's oral fixation. Still...

"The mood, angel. You keep ruining it." He gestures to his wilted cock, which has shriveled back beneath the waistband of the knickers in a sulk.

"Oh, my," Aziraphale mutters, frowning down at Crowley's crotch in obvious consternation. Crowley tells himself not to take it personally.

He grasps Aziraphale by the hips and gives him a gentle shake. "Look, is there anything else you think you could possibly need?"

Aziraphale twists his fingers together and flicks anxious looks from the bed to the bathroom to Crowley and back to the bed.

"Well..." he hedges with a wince.

Crowley uses his grip to encourage the angel to turn around and propels him forward with a nudge to his lower back. "Go, get whatever it is. And then it's miracles from here on out," he threatens. "You're going to give my dick a complex."

Aziraphale scoffs at that but makes a beeline toward the kitchenette. While he's distracted getting out glasses and filling them with water, Crowley gives the lube bottles sitting next to him a gimlet stare. All three hasten to ensure their flavor profiles would impress even the most discerning sommelier.

Before he's satisfied, Aziraphale has arranged practically a spa's worth of conveniences with a doomsday prepper's paranoia on the bedside table, including the lube, several choices of dildos and vibrators and vibrating dildos, back-up batteries and charging cords, a bewildering assortment of condoms and dental dams, several additional flannels, mints, water, and a selection of dark chocolates and shortbread for after.

Crowley, on account of wanting to get his dick touched in earnest sometime this century, heroically keeps his commentary and the assured follow-on bickering, to himself.

But when they (finally) get down to it, he has to admit it's nice when Aziraphale is able to, with minimal fuss, switch from fingers to a vibrator just when Crowley is feeling like he needs something a little more intense to make it across the finish line.

And it is reassuring when he's about to come his brains out that when he looks down it's to see Aziraphale poised to catch his release in a convenient flannel so he doesn't run the risk of putting his own eye out again.

Then, when he's panting and delirious in the aftershocks, he has to grudgingly admit to feeling cared for when Aziraphale, with a few gentle rubs, is able to clean up most of the sweat with the towel, and then easily tip Crowley to his side to tug it free of the bed and discard it and the wrapped-up vibrator to the floor for later consideration.

By the time Aziraphale is pulling Crowley into his lap and offering him a glass of water to treat his post-sex cotton mouth, he's decided that, okay, fine, maybe the angel has a point about preparedness.

"Still don't know why you can't just miracle most of this," he mutters, forehead pressed to the side of Aziraphale's neck. He opens his mouth imperiously for another piece of chocolate.

Aziraphale's disapproving tsk is belied by the tender arm he has wrapped around Crowley's shoulders and the alacrity with which he places the bit of chocolate between the demon's lips.

After a moment, he admits, "It's the physicality of it, I think. I don't want to forget something important in the heat of the moment. Seeing it all lined up, ready to go, makes it easier to stay focused." He breathes in a long sigh and lets it out slowly. "I do so want this to be good for you."

Crowley frowns and lifts his head to get a better look at the angel's face. There's a pinched sort of look around his eyes.

"Aziraphale, you've already given me several absolutely terrific orgasms—thanks for this latest one, by the way, stellar work. Of the two of us, I think I'm the one not pulling their weight."

"Oh, no, dearest, I don't want this to turn into, oh, into _score keeping_ ," Aziraphale protests. He cups Crowley's cheek in his free hand. "If we did, I'm afraid you'd never catch up, simply because I don't have much of an appetite. Please don't take it as a reflection on your own efforts."

Crowley raises his eyebrows. "Is that what this is, then? You're plying me with lube and chocolates to make up for not getting a stiffy?"

Aziraphale groans. "Oh, you are impossible."

"And _right_ , aren't I."

Crowley smirks and wraps his arms around the angel's neck, straightening up so he can let Aziraphale hide his red face in Crowley's chest. The angel sighs again with pointed force, but he doesn't lift his head. In fact, he nuzzles into the wisps of chest hair on Crowley's chest.

"There, there," Crowley says cheerfully, patting Aziraphale on the back and taking great delight both in petting through the angel's fluffy curls and, for once, not being the one embarrassed by their awkward sex life. It's very refreshing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely head canon them both as having low-to-high key anxiety that manifests in different ways. I see a lot of head canons that Aziraphale is much more of an in-the-moment person / not a planner given how much he represses and the whole crepes debacle. But we also see him in canon going feral over research and practicing his speech to Gabriel. So, my personal opinion is that (apart from the very end, where he clearly just snaps) he's very much a planner unless (a) he has to actively ignore the thing to manage the anxiety (ex: getting flustered about the Arrangement only when Crowley shoves it in his face) or (b) he's so attached to an idea it gets in the way of good sense (ex: crepes, convincing heaven to call off the war). (which, tbh, #relatable) 
> 
> So the premise for this chapter was baseline planning-to-manage-anxiety running afoul of caveat (b), and thus hijinks.
> 
> Next chapter title preview: "Talk dirty to me (wait, not like that)" which, tbh, I apologize for in advance.


	4. Talk dirty to me (wait, not like that)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Apologies in advance for literally everything about this.)
> 
> Sex-related tags for this chapter: Crowley has a vulva, Crowley has breasts, nipple play, penetrative sex toys (and this time it's kind of graphic!), cunnilingus (not tooooo graphically described?? for a given value of "graphic"...), Aziraphale is good at cunnilingus (because apparently that's a tag...), praise kink, (because) Crowley has a praise kink

They've been doing this for a while now, is the thing. Even with as infrequent as Crowley gets the urge, they've done it enough that they've started to work out most of the kinks.[7] The result is, Crowley's started to get cocky.[8] He's—or rather, she's—started to suggest experiments to liven things up and really test the borders of their sex life. She should know better by now: asking questions does not always net intended results.

"Hey, you know what we should try?" she pants as she leans back against the angel's chest. His fingers are paying loving attention to her breasts through the fabric of a stretchy lace bodysuit. There's lacing holding the two sides together stretching from navel to collarbone, and Aziraphale sneaks his fingers through the gap to give her left nipple a direct tweak. She loses the plot for a moment.

"What should we try, dearest?" Aziraphale asks indulgently, voice low and warm against her ear.

They're sprawled out on the bed together, Aziraphale propped up by a mountain of pillows and distractingly nude for once, while Crowley is snuggled back-to-front between his legs. It's a good position for when she's craving full-body contact but Aziraphale still wants unrestricted access to all of her everything.

"Ngh. Uh," she tries, squirming around the frankly obscenely large dildo Aziraphale has just minutes ago worked carefully into her pussy in the gap at the crotch of the body suit. It's just sitting there, making her feel both satisfyingly full but aggravatingly understimulated. It's also one of Aziraphale's more bastardly purchases, which means it's interestingly textured but also clear silicone shot through with rainbow glitter (because it "looked fun").

Just proving his bastard tendencies, the hand that isn't happily menacing her nipple sweeps down the flat of her belly and rubs against the mound of her vulva. The tension of the bodysuit and the dulled contact provide a diffuse sort of heat in her clit: just enough to be not enough.

"Rrrrargh, just touch me already," she growls, thrusting her hips up into his hand, which makes the dildo rock interestingly inside her.

"In good time," he says placidly. "What is it you think we should try?"

He hasn't stopped the movement of either hand, and he has to know it's making it about a million times more difficult for her to focus. By someone, she loves this absolute arsehole.

"Uhhhh," she says, working up a rhythm with her hips that complements the movement of his hand. "Could try dirty talk? You have a terrific voice. Think it could be hot to hear you say sexy things."

"Oh," Aziraphale says, surprise clear in his tone.

His hands stop moving, which is disappointing but not altogether unexpected. Crowley catches her breath and turns to press her face into the soft curls on the side of Aziraphale's head.

"Yes," he says after a moment, sounding cautious. "I suppose I could try." He adjusts his arms so he's hugging her around the waist and dips his head to press a kiss to her shoulder. You really want that?" He sounds surprisingly hesitant, but then, Crowley reflects, he isn't one to use coarse language if it can be avoided.

"Wouldn't have suggested it otherwise," she points out.

"Well, all right," he says, sounding far too much like he's girding himself to go into battle.

She leans up enough that she can twist to look him in the eye, going a bit cross-eyed at the way the dildo nudges inside her as she flexes. "Ngk, do _you_ not want to?" she asks. "Thought you might like a bit of harmless playacting, but if it makes you uncomfortable..."

"No, no, I want to at least try," he says, expression shifting to something more assured. "I wasn't certain about cunnilingus in theory at first, if you'll remember, but look where we are now!" He gives her a sly grin.

"I'm not complimenting your eating out skills unless you're prepared to demonstrate," she drawls, but doesn't hold back the fond smile tugging at one side of her mouth.

He pouts, but then urges her to lay back against him again. "Here, let's give it the old college try."

She obliges, getting settled again and bringing up an arm to bury her fingers in his curls appreciatively.

Aziraphale gives her neck a series of biting kisses as he begins letting his hands wander again. She sighs in pleasure as the banked heat begins to catch sparks once more. Soon, she's riding the hot pressure of his fingers slip-sliding on either side of her clit as he lightly scratches the lace over one of her nipples. A moan slips out, loud and urgent.

"Yes, you like that don't you, you—you dirty girl, you," Aziraphale murmurs earnestly into the side of her neck.

Crowley freezes. If she had a cock right now, she thinks it would probably shiver back up into her body in self-defense.

"Er, what was that, angel?"

"You heard me," he declares with a little too much verve. "You're a—ah—a slut! For a good cock. Um." He flounders.

Crowley resolutely grabs the angel's hands and holds them still because she absolutely cannot cope with any stimulation right now lest some extremely unfortunate wires get crossed.

"Sorry, one more time? What was that about me being a slut?" she prods, starting to find the morbid humor in the situation.

"Y-yes," he says, sounding both stern and like he's sweating bullets. "But _my_ slut. I mean. I know just how to make you, um, beg. For it."

"For ‘good' cock?"

"Yes, quite. You—you cockslut, you!"

It's really awkward belly laughing with a dildo up your vagina, so she pulls it out and tosses it on a nearby towel and turns in Aziraphale's arms so she can howl properly into his neck. The angel gives a long-suffering heave of a sigh and cuddles her close, carding a hand into her long waves to pet at them idly.

"I take it that wasn't the most impressive performance," he says, sounding chagrined.

Crowley leans up and grasps Aziraphale's face in her hands. His expression is too doleful for her liking, so she presses a quick kiss to his lips and another to his forehead for good measure.

"That was the worst dirty talk I've ever heard," she reassures him tenderly.

He rolls his eyes at that. "Well, I've never done it before," he protests. "Perhaps I just need some practice."

"Doubtful. I should have known better," she admits. "You're a terrible performer."

Aziraphale gasps in outrage. "I am a magnificent performer!"

"Mmm," she says with a grimace. "Agree to disagree. In any case, I think the problem is you clearly do not believe or particularly like what you're saying. That about right?"

The angel's scowl melts into something more vulnerable. "I spent millenia saying things I didn't like or really believe about you, because I thought I had to," he says in a soft rush. "And even if I know you didn't always take it personally..." He loses steam and ends with a wide-eyed shrug.

Crowley winces. It's something they've talked about before; Aziraphale even apologized. But it's still a sensitive enough bit of baggage that she doesn't think it's a good idea to try any sort of "reclaiming" exercises just yet.

"Yeah, ok, so don't say things you don't mean, then," she says. "There's more than one way to dirty talk. Maybe you're thinking too modern—for once," she mutters. "We've known a lot of poets in our day, and they knew how to get dirty without calling people sluts." She punctuates the idea with a gentle pat to his cheeks. "There's some inspiration right there."

Aziraphale gives her a dubious look. "That's true. I could say things closer to what I feel in my heart."

"Absolutely," she agrees. "But dirty. That's the key bit of business."

With an exchange of resolute nods, they get back to it.

It does not go well.

"Oh, my beautiful darling, your quim is like a most delectable, erotic fruit, bursting with the juices of our love making, and I a starving man knelt down to feast."

" _No_."

"Too much?"

"You are lucky you're as good at oral as you are or I'd kick you out of bed right now," she says vehemently. "‘Juices'!" she can't help but exclaim again furiously.

"Well, there are, rather," Aziraphale says with a pointed flick of his gaze downward. He's currently stretched out on his belly between her legs, steaming up her pubic hair with his angelic breath and about to put her money where his mouth is, so to speak, or she really would make good on her threat.

As it is, she digs her heels into his back and puts an emphatic hand to the crown of his head as a more satisfying way of ensuring, at least for the moment, nothing else tragic comes out of his mouth.

Later, after she's wrung out and he's back to reclining on his pillow mountain and hauled her bodily on top of him like the world's most pointy blanket, her brain can't help but circle the idea like a dissatisfied shark. There's something here, she knows, or it wouldn't have snagged so hard in her imagination. She just hasn't worked out the right angle yet.

"You do say, er, hot things. Sometimes. Is the thing," she says out loud when the thoughts won't stop spiraling.

Aziraphale makes a questioning hum. His restless hands have been drawing nonsense patterns all over her back and arms and shoulders, occasionally straying up to delicately fingercomb the sex tangles out of her hair.

"Dirty talk," she says, lifting her head and dragging her noodly arms up across his chest as a rest for her chin.

Aziraphale's head is tilted enough to emphasize his little double chin, and she doesn't fight the impulse to strain forward and give it a quick kiss before resettling. The gesture goes a long way toward smoothing out the uncertain expression on her angel's face.

"I've never intentionally done so before tonight," he says, and now his eyes narrow thoughtfully. "But you've found things I've said before titillating? What sort of things? Perhaps there's a pattern we could deduce."

"Dunno," she says with a shrug and strategically shifts to lay her cheek on his chest so she can escape that earnestly focused stare. "Like when you said that thing about wanting to nibble on me when I was wearing that one camisole." She shrugs and focuses on the feel of Aziraphale's rounded shoulders under her hands so she doesn't have to think too hard about what she's saying.

Aziraphale is quiet for a moment before exclaiming, "Oh! When I said your darling nipples looked so deliciously tempting through the lace that I wanted to bite them?"

"Ngk, yeah, something like that," she mutters, feeling her face flame. He'd just been so blessed adoring and cherubic even as he was talking about doing something carnally hedonistic.

"Well, that was just a simple observation," Aziraphale protests. "I wasn't trying to be sexy."

Crowley thinks she might discorporate from the effort, but she gets out through gritted teeth, "Look, you know how excited you get about a new tasting menu at one of your posh restaurants? You go on and on about this course or that and try to guess at how it'll taste and get insufferable about mouthfeel?"

It'll be worth it, probably, if she can just power through and somehow bridge this spectacular communication gap.

"Yes," Aziraphale agrees, drawing out the word questioningly.

"S'passion, isn't it? You get this look on your face, all glowy. I like it. Always have. And when you were saying that thing, it was like seeing you go batshit over a good mousse. Except. About me."

It isn't even limited to sex, is the thing. He'll get just as bright-eyed and wriggly about the prospect of cuddling and petting her without any carnal destination in mind.

And that's it, she thinks: the idea that, now, he might reconsider a night out because he's discovered he likes to indulge in _her_ in any number of sensual ways... It's enough to do a demon's head in.

"Oh," Aziraphale sighs, sounding slightly poleaxed.

He touches Crowley's cheek in a gentle bid for her attention, and she reluctantly lifts her head from his sternum so she can meet his gaze, fighting through the urge to burrow back down somewhere dark and safe. Aziraphale's eyes are wide and stormy, his mouth open like he wants to say something but hasn't quite found the words. Instead, he once again hauls her further up his body so he can reach to press what has to be the world's most tender kiss to her lips. It doesn't feel like anything but soft and close and warm, and she shudders, feeling tears inexplicably prick at the edges of her eyes.

"My dear Crowley," he murmurs against her mouth, and then trails soft kisses across her cheek up to her temple and mercifully encourages her with a hand to the back of her head to bury her face in his neck. She clings with fervor, feeling possibly more wrung out now than after the impressive couple of orgasms he teased from her earlier.

"I think I have it now," Aziraphale says in a hushed voice as he miracles them under the covers.

* * *

  
  
7 Apart from the intentional kinks, naturally. [return to text]

8 Or vagina-y, mood depending. [return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Huzzah tonal whiplash!
>   * Also, you can pry the "Crowley has a praise kink" head canon from my cold, dead hands.
>   * I hope y'all are appreciating why my "sex-related tags" notes come with so many qualifications.
>   * Preview of next chapter's title: When the spirit is willing, but...
> 



	5. When the spirit is willing, but...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex-related notes for this chapter: Aziraphale has a penis, Crowley has a penis (eventually), (1.5) hand jobs

Crowley is so amped they're nearly vibrating out of their skin with excitement. They usher Aziraphale into the bedroom and get him sat down on the end of the bed. A sultry snap has the proper mood lighting set, a fresh set of sinfully soft silk sheets neatly spread over the bed, and romantic strains of something or other with violins piping in discreetly from the corners of the room.

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows at Crowley, but runs an appreciative hand over the sheets. "Darling, no need to make a fuss," he says mildly.

"I do not fuss," Crowley protests, snapping themselves into a brand new set of French knickers made entirely of sheer red lace. "Now, what's your pleasure, angel," they say with a leer. "You want me with a cunt? A cock? Or both! Breasts? Long or short hair? I'm not feeling any particular sort of way this week, so we can mix and match."

Aziraphale's expression morphs from bemused to alarmed, and he jerks to his feet again and flutters his hands over Crowley's bare upper arms.

"No, Crowley," he says, "please, let's not get carried away. I'm not even sure I'll be able to stay interested long enough to finish. I don't want you putting yourself out on my account."

Crowley grins, sharp and predatory. "Oh, angel, I've been waiting for this opportunity for a long, long time. I'm not letting it pass me by. Besides! What's a few miracles between partners?"

As expected, the anxious line between Aziraphale's eyebrows smoothes out as he goes soppy over the labeling of their relationship. Soft, sentimental bastard.

"I do appreciate the enthusiasm," Aziraphale says softly, sliding his hands down to grasp Crowley's and give them a squeeze. "I just want to temper expectations."

"Well, then let's come up with a plan. Stack the deck in our favor, yeah?" Crowley suggests. "We'll get me just how you like me, you can tell me all the tricks you know from the few times you've done this before, and we can stick with the tried-and-true classics this first time out."

"I think you overestimate my experience. I haven't had partnered sex in several millenia, and it's not as though I tried more than a few times," Aziraphale says repressively, and then leans in to nuzzle tenderly at Crowley's cheek. "And I like you any way—every way—my darling."

Crowley hates that Aziraphale can literally feel their blush with how close he is. Sure enough, the bastard angel kisses their hot cheek with a pleased hum.

"Ugh, fine," they grouse, "we can wait to see what parts I'll put on. See what the mood calls for." They lean back from the distracting path Aziraphale's nuzzling is starting to take down their jaw and toward their neck. "Oi, angel, what about erogenous zones?"

Aziraphale pulls back, looking chagrined, though whether from being denied Crowley's neck or the question is unclear.

"Oh, I don't have much in the way of erogenous zones," he says. "My nipples are a little sensitive, if I recall correctly—not that I can elicit the same response personally..." He shrugs. "Beyond that... well, my penis responds to direct stimulation," he says with the air of someone breaking the bad news about budget allocation on a critical infrastructure project.

Crowley blinks slowly. That is... not encouraging.

Still, they're not going to be deterred. This is the first time since they've started this that Aziraphale's indicated he's (a) feeling "lubricious"—his word, not Crowley's—and (b) in a mood to do something more about it than take a hot bath and eat an entire chocolate cake while sipping port.

"Fine, good, we can work with that," Crowley says stubbornly. "How about you put on some of those pretty things we bought together and lie back and let me take care of everything, angel."

Aziraphale's eyes light up at the prospect of trying out more of the lingerie they'd bought together a couple of months ago. He'd put on a few inspiring pieces in solidarity the last time Crowley got the itch, but there hasn't been much call to put on some of the more intricate pieces since they've been purchased. Crowley's fairly sure they've been languishing in the angel's overstuffed antique wardrobe.

"Oh, how about this set, hmm?" Aziraphale says excitedly and snaps himself into a champagne lace bralette with applique roses and gold trim and a matching pair of high-waisted briefs.

Crowley swallows down their first impulse, which is to call the angel adorable, and goes with a more ambiguous, "Very nice." They're not going to jeopardize any potential sexy feelings the sweetly angelic lingerie is giving Aziraphale with an ill-judged adjective, heartfelt or not.

"All right," they say, grabbing Aziraphale by the waist and propelling him back the couple steps it takes to reach the end of the bed again. "Let's do this."

Twenty minutes later, Crowley isn't ready to admit defeat, but they're feeling a fair amount of frustration. Like a prospector who showed up late to the gold rush, they're panning for erogenous zones and coming up empty.

At the moment, Crowley is attempting to make sultry bedroom eyes at Aziraphale while they do very interesting things with their tongue to the groove of the angel's hip. Aziraphale gamely holds eye contact, and his cheeks grow increasingly pink, his breath shortening, and Crowley has a bright, shining moment thinking, yes, here we are, a bona fide erogenous zone. But then Aziraphale bursts out giggling and visibly resists the impulse to shove Crowley's face away, his hands swerving at the last second to grip the sheets instead.

"Oh, come on," Crowley growls, glaring down at the patch of skin shiny with their spit in offense. "There has to be some part of your corporation that makes you go all tingly."

Aziraphale sighs through the last of his laughter and readjusts a few of the pillows he's reclining on that were dislodged in all the squirming.

"I did tell you," he says reprovingly.

"I'm going to suck your cock now," Crowley declares menacingly.

"Oh, that should be quite nice," Aziraphale agrees cheerfully, wiggling his shoulders more comfortably against the pillows and folding his hands primly over his belly.

Crowley takes the whole length of him into his mouth at once, which is easy because he's still completely soft. However, some dedicated tonguing and gentle sucking does get it engaged rather quickly, though—thank Someone.

Once he's fully hard, Crowley starts putting hours of forum and sex blog advice research, as well as a fair amount of what's-good-for-the-goose-and-or-gander mimicry, to practice with prejudice. If direct stimulation is what it's going to take, then that's what their angel will get.

Aziraphale sighs and threads his fingers into Crowley's hair, periodically tugging it, but not in any way that attempts to guide Crowley's efforts. If Crowley didn't enjoy it so much, they would complain about the angel distracting them from their current purpose.

"That is lovely, my dear," Aziraphale says, sounding appreciative but not especially affected.

Crowley pops off and takes over with their hand for a check in. "Any notes? Pressure's good? Did you like that swirly thing I did with my tongue?"

Aziraphale frowns. "You did a swirly thing? Oh, dear, I'm afraid I couldn't tell. But it does feel very nice."

"Nice!" Crowley exclaims, fighting to keep the outrage from their tone. "Doesn't sound too worked up: ‘nice,'" they say leadingly.

The angel winces and hums in agreement. "Very stimulating, but it isn't building toward anything, if you take my meaning." His eyes flutter closed. "Your hand, however..." he says, beginning to sound a bit breathless.

"There we are," Crowley purrs, quickly miracling some lube into their palm since saliva is only going to get them so far. "I'll try a few things. Tell me what you like, angel."

"Yes, jolly good," Aziraphale says, high and thready. He gropes for Crowley's shoulders to draw them in closer. "Have you settled on an effort, dear? I think I'd like to touch you."

For simplicity's sake, Crowley goes for a cock as well, which springs into being fully erect because the faint flush to Aziraphale's cheeks and little moans he's making are really doing it for them. Watching Aziraphale indulge in something decadent has always been a very compelling experience for Crowley, and they're pleased to find that in this context it's transcending compelling into something acutely sympathetic.

Aziraphale's hand shoots out to grasp at them, making Crowley yelp a surprised moan and lose their rhythm for a moment. The angel wastes no time picking up an enthusiastic pace with just the right extra flick of his thumb at the end of each pull that he's learned drives Crowley wild.

Crowley grits their teeth and gamely attempts to focus through the intense heat that immediately begins to build in their groin. But even though they manage to keep up a steady rhythm with just enough variety that they think the angel is unlikely to get too habituated, they feel Aziraphale start to go just the slightest bit soft in their hand.

"No, no, no, no, come on—what do you need?" they gasp. "Help a demon out."

Aziraphale looks up from where he's been making an intense study of where their hands are both busy at filthy work. His hand slows on Crowley's cock. "What was that, dear?" he asks, and then almost immediately moans and returns to full hardness. Crowley is taken aback for a moment—they hadn't changed anything about how they were getting him off—before the penny drops.

"Oi, stop trying to get me off," they snap. "You're getting distracted. Honestly, angel. Just lie back and think of England."

Aziraphale giggles through another moan, head tipping back as his eyes fight to stay open. "Not very inspiring."

"Well, then, think of cake, you ridiculous bastard. Crepes and pears and champagne," they say encouragingly and only the slightest bit snappish.

"I'm afraid if I try to think of anything other than exactly what you're doing with your hand right now, we won't get much farther," Aziraphale admits, and sure enough he's starting to flag again.

"Fine, terrific, just think about my hand on your cock, how ‘lovely' it feels," Crowley says.

"No need to get tetchy," Aziraphale says, tetchily. His eyes go wide and limpid as a little divot appears between his eyebrows. "But I think I need you closer, darling. I do believe I'm feeling lonely."

At this point, if Aziraphale asked them to warble a hymn singing Her praises, they think they'd give it a serious ponder if there was a guarantee it would get Aziraphale's dick back on message.

"Sure, anything you want, angel," they say, shuffling forward and planting their knees on either side of Aziraphale's thighs. Aziraphale eagerly reaches up and draws them closer in, pressing their foreheads together and forcing Crowley to fling their free hand out and catch themselves on the angel's shoulder so they don't collapse completely onto his chest.

"Oh, much better," Aziraphale breathes, drawing his legs up so the tops of his thighs press into the backs of Crowley's. "There you are," he pants, burying his hands in Crowley's hair and tugging at it restlessly for a moment before moving onward down over their back and hips.

Crowley gamely keeps up the steady stroke of their hand up and down Aziraphale's cock, thinking slightly hysterical remonstrations at the lube that's starting to get a little tacky that it best stay fresh and slippery if it knows what's good for it.

Their forearm is starting to cramp, and their wrist locked up a few minutes ago, but like Hell are they changing a blessed thing right now. Aziraphale is finally starting to squirm in earnest, little pinpricks of sweat beading along his hairline, which Crowley can feel because Aziraphale has turned his head so he can rub his cheek and temple along Crowley's like a cat.

Aziraphale clutches at them, and it seems the more skin-to-skin contact there is, the more worked up he gets. So, Crowley gives up the ghost and snakes the arm propping them up around the angel's neck and hauls them closer, barely keeping enough room between their lower bodies to keep up the handjob effectively.

"Oh, yes, dearest, Crowley," Aziraphale stutters, arms locking around Crowley's back as he begins to tremble.

"Yeah, angel, go on, I've got you," Crowley says gruffly, feeling their throat clogging up strangely as they realize it's really going to happen.

Aziraphale comes with panting little "ah" noises, though they're muffled as he smushes his face into Crowley's neck for the duration, one hand holding onto the demon's hair grimly like an anchor.

Crowley gentles him through it, making shushing nonsense sounds that they barely register as falling from their mouth and collapsing the rest of the way onto Aziraphale's chest the moment the angel twitches away from their hand in oversensitivity.

They're quiet for long minutes, Aziraphale clinging tight and Crowley feeling a bit winded themselves as they absently miracle away the mess and the muscle strain in their arm.

"Holy shit," they breathe after a minute. "You all right?" they ask softly. Aziraphale still hasn't come up for air. And while breathing is mostly optional for them, Crowley's not sure they've seen the angel this quiet and clinging in a very, very long time.

"Yes," Aziraphale mumbles after a stretched moment. "I don't think I've ever orgasmed that hard before," he says, sounding a little lost.

"Intense?" Crowley guesses, propping their chin on the angel's shoulder and giving the pillow just behind said shoulder the stink eye. It obligingly collapses enough that Crowley's face isn't completely muffled.

"Overwhelming," Aziraphale corrects, finally pulling away just enough that he can rest his chin on Crowley's shoulder in kind.

"Good overwhelming or bad overwhelming?" Crowley can't help but prod, and hastily adds, "Would you want to try again sometime, is what I mean." Once the words are out, they pull a face at how it sounds. "Not that you have to decide right now." They give up with a grumbled garble of vowels and try to convey unambiguous support by using both their arms and legs to squeeze the angel all over tight.

This seems to pull Aziraphale out of his funk, because he chuckles and runs his palms soothingly up and down Crowley's back.

"Maybe not for a while," he admits. "But yes, I think so. You make a very attentive lover, dear heart."

Crowley scoffs. "That was just a warmup, angel. I've got your number now. Next time, I'll knock you right out of your sock braces."

Aziraphale giggles and draws back until they can look each other in the face. He's still faintly flushed around the forehead and cheeks, which is objectively not a great look for him but compelling nonetheless.

Crowley did that.

They don't even try to repress the pleased grin stretching manically across their face as they bring their hands up to cradle Aziraphale's debauched-looking face in their hands. If nothing else, this experiment has demonstrated very effectively exactly what Aziraphale gets out of their sessions when Crowley's the only one who gets off. If the angel feels even half as smug and fiercely protective as Crowley does right now...

"Yes, very well done, my dear," Aziraphale says dryly, clearly reading the train of Crowley's thoughts from their snake-who-got-the-cream expression.

"I made you speechless," Crowley brags.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes but does lean up for an affectionate, closed-mouth kiss.

"You did," he agrees magnanimously. "However, _now_ , I _am_ feeling quite parched," he says leadingly, back to priss and prim and raised eyebrows.

Crowley chuckles. "What's your pleasure, angel? Anything you want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next/Last chapter title preview: One time when they aced it


	6. And one time they aced it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, so it's been a month? That's what I get for starting to post before the whole thing was fully drafted. But! Here we are! All done. :)
> 
> Sex-related tags specific to this chapter include: Crowley has a penis, Aziraphale has a penis, a hand job, intercrural sex

Crowley is so amped on self-delivered pep talks, he all but kicks in the door when he barrels into the bookshop that afternoon.

"Sex!" he declares upon entry, the little bell above the door adding jangly support.

The sole patron of the store fumbles the dreadfully expensive-looking tome he's holding as his head whips around in surprise. Aziraphale capitalizes on the moment of inattention to snatch the book from him like a graceful swan menacing a toddler for bread crusts.

"I beg your pardon," the man blusters, looking back and forth between the two of them like he's not sure who to be more offended by.

Crowley bares his teeth and saunters vaguely in the direction of the religious texts, exuding as much demonic miasma as he can muster when he's still shaky from the adrenaline of getting the one-word request out.

Aziraphale, beautiful bastard that he is, smiles beatifically as he tucks the book safely away on a shelf behind the nominal cashier counter and says in his poshest tones, "Please forgive my lover. He gets positively rapacious when he's _of the mood_." Then, looking at an antique desk clock that hasn't worked since Victoria was in nappies, he pastes on an overdone look of surprise and says, "Oh goodness, I do believe it's closing time. Where did the day go!"

He bustles out from behind the desk and herds the unfortunate man out the door with a blisteringly genial smile, making nonsense noises about appreciating the man's taking the time to stop by.

As soon as Aziraphale shuts the door in the face of the still-protesting, would-be customer, the shop obligingly locks up, turns the sign, and draws the shade.

Aziraphale spins on one foot and blasts Crowley with an affectionate grin.

"My darling, you used your words!" he coos, folding his hands over his heart in what might actually be a genuine bit of a swoon.

"I used _a_ word," Crowley snipes back.

"Very efficient," Aziraphale agrees cheerfully and strides forward to take Crowley by the elbows. "I'm feeling a bit frisky myself, truth be told." He bobs his eyebrows up meaningfully.

"Eugh, no, angel," Crowley protests, finally uncrossing his tightly wound arms just so he can shove up his sunglasses and pinch the bridge of his nose. "Never say that word again."

Aziraphale hums something that might be an answer but definitely not a concession and jumps right in: "What did you have in mind? What sort of effort will you make? I don't think I have the patience for a clitoris today, so I'll be sporting a penis."

Crowley takes a fortifying breath and reminds himself this is the daft bastard he's chosen to spend the rest of his existence with, come literal hell or heaven, and there really isn't any backing out now.

"Want your hands on me, a lot, all over," he gets out in a few fitful twists of his mouth.

Aziraphale ponders his request with all the gravity he grants a wine list at a Michelin-rated dining establishment, which is gratifying enough that Crowley thinks he can forgive him for the phrase "sporting a penis."

"How about a massage," Aziraphale proposes, running his hands up and down Crowley's biceps in demonstration. "Get you nice and relaxed, and then wound back up again," he says with a smirk. "I can just reach around when you're ready."

"Yeah," Crowley says, bobbing his head at the picture building in his head: Aziraphale's soft, strong hands slippery with the frou-frou massage oil he likes, rubbing all over before starting to tease over his neck, his nipples, then down lower in steady increments as he gets closer and closer to just where Crowley wants him to touch. He flushes all over in anticipation. "Yeah, that sounds good," he grates out.

"Will you want to be penetrated?" Aziraphale asks.

Crowley groans and knocks his head back onto the bookshelf behind him. "Maybe. I don't know. Do you have to ask that way?"

Aziraphale purses his lips and then says, prissily, "I could have asked if you'd like for me to plunder you with my love rod."

"Yes, all right, point made," Crowley hisses.

"Or _a_ love rod. It doesn't have to be mine," Aziraphale offers. "You could choose something from the collection."

"No, no, too complicated. I'll just manifest a cock and you can—" He makes a lewdly unambiguous gesture with the hand not still wrapped around his torso.

"Whatever you like, dearest," Aziraphale says indulgently, capturing the offensive hand and placing a loving buss on Crowley's knuckles. "What scent would you like?" he asks as he steps close into Crowley's space. The look he casts up through his lashes is filled with an obscene amount of tenderness as he cradles Crowley's hand to his chest.

Crowley, despite himself, finds his posture unkinking in the face of such naked adoration, and his free hand wanders down to rest on Aziraphale's hip. "That lavender almond stuff you did for my feet the other week was all right," he grumbles.

"Wonderful," Aziraphale says. "What do you think you'll be comfortable with when it's my turn? Vaginal? Anal? Oh!" He interrupts himself with a delighted grin. "I haven't tried intercrural on you yet. You seem to enjoy it ever so much—I've been thinking to try it."

Crowley winces for a whole overflowing letters-to-the-editor inbox list of reasons. "Look, first of all, your thighs are like hot, velvet-covered marshmallows, of course it's going to feel bloody amazing. Second of all, I need you to say this sentence for me if I'm going to let you get your dick anywhere near my chicken legs: 'Crowley, I want to put my cock between your thighs.'" He pulls an overly reasonable expression. "There, a little paint-by-numbers dirty talk to get us started."

Aziraphale casts a reproving look. "I have been practicing, you know."

Crowley shakes his head exaggeratedly. "I'm not hearing the magic words, angel."

He gets a righteous eye roll for that, but then Aziraphale pulls him down to get his angelic mouth by Crowley's ear and rumbles, breath hot, "Darling, I'd quite like to like to fuck your pretty thighs."

Well, all right, Crowley thinks dazedly as all the blood in his corporation surges to his as-yet shapeless nethers and throbs in horny confusion.

Aziraphale leans back and beams, looking not a little smug at what Crowley knows must be the indignantly turned-on droop to his expression.

He ekes out some wheezing, vowel-adjacent sounds, and Aziraphale claps his hands in obvious delight.

"I am getting better at that," he chortles, then whips something small, blood red, and silky looking out of thin air and tucks it into the breast pocket of Crowley's jacket. "I picked these up for you the other day. They have the most darling little bows at the hips. I'll just go up and get everything ready for your massage."

He leans up and presses a sweet kiss to the corner of Crowley's mouth before striding away toward the staircase like an angel on a holy mission.

Crowley shakes himself out of his stupor, snaps himself a penis to give all his ambiguously horny feelings somewhere to focus, and wobbles on only mildly unsteady legs after him.

By the time he's ascended and traded his outfit for the silky panties, Aziraphale has the pillows fluffed, towels laid out, and oils, water, and postcoital snacks assembled neatly on the bedside table. He's stepping out of his shoes and shrugging out of his waistcoat at the same time, but still has the wherewithal to give Crowley an approving once-over and a pleased, "You do look quite a treat in those, my dear."

Crowley, for his part, manages to kneel up onto the bed and settle on the towel without looking like a complete giraffe—maybe a semi-suave stork. Aziraphale quickly shucks the rest of his clothes, going completely nude with a full effort from the start for a change, and fits himself behind Crowley with an eager bounce that sends Crowley toppling back into him with a squawk.

Aziraphale happily wraps him up in a bear hug and begins nuzzling the most sensitive part of his neck. Crowley's cock gives a surprised lurch at the jolt of sensation, and his breath wheezes out. "Too fast," he squeaks and squirms. "Need a little more… erk, easing in," he grits out.

"Of course," Aziraphale says, courteously moving his mouth away from Crowley's neck beforehand. "Apologies, dearest, I got carried away. Here, let's begin that massage."

From there, things get slippery and warm and tingly in waves of sensation that start slow and relaxing but ratchet up in intensity as Aziraphale works Crowley's erogenous zones over like one of those street performers rubbing out tremblingly emphatic music from a tableful of water-filled wine glasses.

By the time he deigns to touch Crowley's dick, Crowley is unabashedly begging, one hand gripping at Aziraphale's knee and the other reaching back to grab a handful of white curls as his bastard of a partner watches curiously over his shoulder and lazily humps Crowley's lower back with his mostly erect cock.

"There we are," Aziraphale hushes him when Crowley's half sobbing through his orgasm, one hand working Crowley through it and the other holding a soft flannel to catch the mess. "Oh, you gorgeous thing, that was wonderfully done," he praises.

"Gnh," Crowley manages, boneless and sprawled in Aziraphale's lap. "S'your turn."

"Hmm," Aziraphale agrees, and then tenderly manhandles Crowley down onto his side on the towel and tucks a pillow under his head. "You just rest, dear. I'll see to myself."

Crowley grunts in agreement, still a little noodly from his orgasm and mostly interested in the way Aziraphale snugs up tight behind him. The angel even miraculously finds enough room to wedge his left arm under Crowley's torso to hold them together fast.

He does try to flex his thighs periodically as Aziraphale leisurely thrusts into the slicked up space between his thighs.

"Is this all right?" Aziraphale asks, sounding just the faintest bit breathless. "Not too sensitive?"

"S'good," Crowley slurs and somehow finds the coordination to flop his right arm back to grasp weakly at Aziraphale's hip, theoretically to encourage him on.

"Wonderful," Aziraphale breathes, pressing kisses to every bit of skin available to him as he picks up both pace and force.

"Should roll us over a bit," Crowley says as his brain slowly comes back online. "Let gravity do a bit of the work."

Aziraphale huffs out a laugh but does as suggested. Crowley grunts and doesn't fight the pleased smirk that stretches his lips as he's pressed and pounded more pointedly into the mattress. It's mostly hidden by the pillow anyway, he reasons.

"You just like it when I lay on you," Aziraphale accuses through hitched breaths.

"Feelsss cozy," Crowley hisses out, reaching down to brush his fingers lightly over the head of Aziraphale's cock as it emerges and retreats between his thighs.

"Oh, that's lovely," Aziraphale pants. "Won't be long now."

Crowley bites back a sarcastic quip about how ridiculous the angel sounds, even mid-fuck. He doesn't want to risk diverting Aziraphale's attention so much that he loses focus. "Take whatever you need," he says instead, letting a bit of the soppy adoration he feels leak out.

Aziraphale gasps and presses frantic kisses to his shoulder blades.

"Could lay here forever," Crowley goes on, goaded by Aziraphale's response. "Whatever you like, angel," he confesses, letting his voice drop and shifting his floppy left arm so he can grip the hand Aziraphale has splayed over his chest with his own.

Aziraphale presses his forehead hard against Crowley's back and shudders through his orgasm, gasping wordlessly a few times before going limp and properly crushing Crowley into the bed.

"Yessss," Crowley breathes, faculties back online enough to handle a snap that cleans them both up and banishes the towel. He wriggles contentedly underneath the overheated bulk of sated angel and revels at how thoroughly pinned he is.

Several minutes pass before Aziraphale stirs. Crowley gets ready to mourn the end of blanket time, but to his pleasant surprise, Aziraphale simply rearranges them so he can more comfortably and fully lay atop Crowley's back, head resting between Crowley's shoulder blades and their arms resting stacked against Crowley's sides, fingers intertwined.

"Feeling properly smothered, dear heart?" Aziraphale murmurs and presses a soft kiss to Crowley's skin.

"Becoming one with the mattress as we speak," he returns sleepily. "That was good. Proper shag that was. Well done, us."

"Surprisingly, yes," Aziraphale agrees hazily, sounding a little like he might take a kip himself.

"Can I get a wahoo," Crowley slurs, smacking his lips as he settles in for a post-sex nap.

"Wahoo," Aziraphale breathes out with high-pitched enthusiasm massively undercut by how drowsy he sounds. He even waggles their clasped hands in a weak approximation of a cheer.

Crowley will take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all had fun. I certainly entertained myself writing about awkward sex and ace-oriented sex and the ineffables taking the piss out of each other even as they make doe eyes. :D 
> 
> If you want more sex-favorable asexual ineffable shenanigans, I have a couple of (good?) sex vignettes up in another part of this series, ["Scratching That Itch"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708450/chapters/54271567), and the first two parts of the series are chock full of sensual cuddling.


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